Waking the Dead
by angeloser
Summary: Set twenty-one years post Normal Again, assuming both realities are valid. Dawn is visiting her catatonic sister when strange things start happening.
1. Dawn

Waking the Dead  
  
Author's notes: The title of this was taken from a movie that I have yet to see. I want to, cause it has Billy Crudup and Jennifer Connelly in it, but I can never find it to rent. Anyway, I liked the sound of it, I couldn't think of anything else.  
  
This is only my second fic, so I'm still not really sure what I'm doing. Just throwing that out there. Also, while this story isn't strictly B/S, that is my 'ship, so it's gonna be slanted that way. So you may want to skip this if you're very much against Buffy and Spike as a couple.  
  
Insert standard disclaimer about me not owning anything.  
  
Have a nice day. ^_^  
  
* * *  
  
I've never really met my sister. She was in a mental institution for years before I was even born. I sometimes wondered if the only reason I exist was to make the real world more like her fantasy. I wondered what Mom and Dad would have done if I'd been born a boy.  
  
I wasn't though. I was born a healthy baby girl, named after my sister's delusion. Pretty Dawnie, the key to Buffy's health. Pure shining energy wrapped in a pink blanket. Hold the baby, she loves you, she wants to meet her sister, no support the head, Buffy – she's gone again. Not that I can remember any of it, but I'm sure it must have happened at some time.  
  
Is it even possible to love someone who only speaks to people who exist somewhere the rest of us can't see? A slip of a girl, swallowed by madness and drowning in hospital gowns, as well as her own mind. Is it possible to love a girl whose blank eyes reflect the broken dreams of our parents, old and gone before their time? To love a girl who never knows you're there, and can never love you back? I do love her, though.  
  
Sometimes, when I'm at her side, I'll hold her hands, and look into those impossibly wide eyes, and I know that I've somehow connected to her. They told me that before I was born, she almost broke through her cocoon. It nearly twenty years ago, the last time.  
  
Buffy still looks like a little girl. No wrinkles mar her pretty face. Her body does not look lived in. I guess it hasn't really been. There is no gray in her hair, though it is no longer the blond it once was. Mom had insisted that we keep dyeing it, but I don't have the energy to do it myself. So Buffy's hair is the same color as mine; a dirty color somewhere in between blonde and brown, as if it couldn't decide what it wanted to be. It's an appropriate shade for us.  
  
Buffy is forty-two now, and I'm nineteen. Mom's been gone almost a year. Dad died when I was only eight. He couldn't cope after Buffy's last brush with reality. The drinking started before I was born. In a way, I never really knew my father, either. He must have been different before. Mom was so strong. She never gave up hoping for Buffy, and she didn't love me any less for not being the miracle they'd hoped for. I grew up with stories of Buffy, but never felt that I was her replacement. My life was pretty much as typical as it could be, given the circumstances.  
  
The day everything changed was a Monday. I'd just gotten out of my history class, and was visiting Buffy before work. Monday was her bath day, and her hair was damp and she smelled of watermelon. She sat on her bed, pink pajamas crumpled under her legs, an ancient stuffed pig by her side. Her lips were curved into a slight smile. I was filled with love at the sight of her.  
  
"Hi, sweetie!" I sat down on her bed, careful not to jostle her too much. "I brought you something. It's not much, but I'm a poor college student now. I hope you like it." I took her present out of my bag. It was a small glass orb, pink and shiny. There was nothing very special about it. I'd seen it at one of those street sales, and bought it on a whim. She'd liked pretty things, before. Or so I'd been told.  
  
Her hands were at her sides, buried beneath the covers. I picked them up and formed them into a cup shape that would hold the trinket. Then I placed it in her hands. The world shattered in that instant.  
  
Buffy blinked. The orb fell from her hands onto the bed, and rolled onto the floor, bouncing, then rolling under her chest of drawers. I didn't notice anything wrong at first. She often dropped things. But then she looked at me, actually at me, and not through me. Her eyes were pools of confusion.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
Her words were pebbles, dropping into the still pond of the room. She'd talked before; I'd heard her do it. But the words she spoke were never directed at people anyone else could see. This was different. She was looking at me and talking to me, and she grabbed my shirt and shook me so hard my teeth cracked against each other.  
  
"Buffy?" I asked stupidly. That probably wasn't the most intelligent thing I could have said to the sister who'd been catatonic all of my life. But at times like that, my brain kinda shuts off and my mouth works on its own.  
  
"Who ARE you? Where am I? Oh god, the car! The car and Dawn and the babies. There was the car, and the rain and a light, the babies were crying and where AM I?" She was up off the bed now, looking around her, as if she was trying to find the car she was talking about.  
  
"Dawn? I was there with you? Buffy, I'm Dawn. I'm your sister, and you're in the hospital." I spoke at a slow space, and I enunciated the words too harshly. I was as unprepared as I could have been. A thousand thoughts and feelings ran through my head. Joy was easily the most prominent, but there was also confusion, fear, and strangely, anger. Why couldn't she have woken up two years ago? Ten years ago, or twenty? Why now, when I was the only person left who remembered she was there?  
  
"You're not Dawn." Buffy's words were so matter of fact that it frightened me. There were times when I actually did wonder if I was real. If maybe I'd created myself in some delusion, and I was the one sitting around in pink pajamas getting bathed by strangers.  
  
"Buffy, I am. I have my driver's license if you want to inspect it?" Great Dawn, go with humor. Always the best way to deal with an unstable person.  
  
Buffy surprised me then, and actually grabbed for my purse, turning it out and spilling its contents all over the floor. She snatched my wallet from among the pile of tampons and receipts and read aloud the information printed on my license. "Dawn Caroline Summers. Born June 16th, 2004. Okay, now I know something very wrong is happening. Dawn was born in 1986. She's just five years younger than I am, and you look like you're still in high school. What did you do to me? I'm telling you right now that if you don't undo it soon, you're going to have to deal with a very cranky Buffy, because I'm needed somewhere else right now."  
  
"I… Buffy…" I had the strong premonition that if I didn't say the right thing, she was going to come closer to me, and shake me like she had before. And maybe she'd crack something besides my teeth. She was obviously still in her fantasy world, but she was reacting to the world around her. I didn't know what this meant, but I did know that I had to get a doctor, and now wasn't soon enough.  
  
I tried to be discreet about backing towards the door, but she read me too well. She had me before I took two steps. She must have thought that I was purposely trying to injure her. Before I really know it, she had us both out the window, and rolling on the cool grass outside.  
  
I wasn't exactly Little Miss Athletic. Being dragged along by my newly awakened sister was probably more aerobically challenging than anything I'd done in a long time. I didn't even try to wrench free. Buffy's grip was strong. I would have needed a crowbar to pry her tiny fingers from my wrist. The only choices I had were to run with her, or to fall to the sidewalk and skid.  
  
After a block or so, Buffy stopped. I guess she'd realized that she didn't know where she was taking me. She switched tactics.  
  
"Take me to your car," she said in a voice so commanding I didn't think of not complying. Her eyes were wild, but she seemed in control. She did not seem at all like a madwoman.  
  
I stammered; she unnerved me. "I-It in the west parking lot." I pointed dumbly. She'd actually taken us farther from my car than we'd originally been. She didn't let go of my hand, but turned around and started pulling me in the opposite direction.  
  
When we got to the parking lot, Buffy loosened her grip and pushed me ahead of her.  
  
"Go to the car. Give me the keys. I'm driving, but you're coming with me. I need you to tell me how to get to the freeway. I'm taking you to Sunnydale." 


	2. Dawn

Buffy, or rather, the Buffy who had emerged two hours ago, drove like she did everything else: purposefully, and in complete control. Her hands were clutching the steering wheel with a force that turned her knuckles white. She moved fluidly in and out of traffic. I was scared to look at the speedometer, but judging from the blur of the passing scenery, I wagered she was going very above the speed limit.  
  
She'd turned the radio off as soon as she'd heard it. The only sounds in the car were our breathing, and the hum of the air conditioner. Occasionally, she'd tap one of her fingers on the underside of the wheel.  
  
I was afraid to speak to her. This strange woman was not my fragile, beautiful sister. This Buffy was not broken, and mine was. For the first time in my life, I actually felt like I was the younger sister. I also felt like I'd been abducted.  
  
As far as I'd been told, Sunnydale didn't exist. It was part of Buffy's land of make believe. I hoped she wouldn't relapse when we got to wherever Sunnydale was supposed to be. I wasn't sure I was in any condition to drive the both of us back. My legs felt like jelly, and my wrist still bore the imprints of Buffy's fingers.  
  
"Dawn?" Buffy addressed me in a way that made it clear she regarded me as a poor imposter of her real sister. Then the first hint of uncertainty entered her voice as she asked, "How long was I in that hospital?"  
  
"Since before I was born. You've been there since you were fifteen, so – twenty-seven years."  
  
"You're lying." The sureness was back. "It couldn't have been more than a few days. I don't know who you are, or why you have my sister's name, but I swear, if you hurt her, you will know why you should never mess with the Slayer."  
  
"Buffy, you have to listen to me. I didn't do anything. I'm your sister, and I love you, but you're scaring me. None of what you're saying is real. It's all part of an elaborate delusion you've created." I'd heard the doctors tell her that time and again, but I knew she never heard them.  
  
"Something about this whole situation is giving me an eerie sense of déjà vu." Buffy had a crease in her brow between her eyes. She bit her lip, and pressed down harder on the accelerator.  
  
Suddenly, she hit the brakes. I was thrown forward and back with enough force that it made me glad I was wearing my seatbelt. Before I could ask what was wrong, I saw for myself why she had stopped. In the middle of the highway was a child's car seat.  
  
  
  
We got out of the car after pulling over to the side of the road. There was no traffic, so Buffy ran right to the car seat, and swooped it up from where it was resting. She brought it back, and placed it on the hood of my car, then slid down the side, until she was sitting on the pavement of the shoulder. Her head rested near the wheel well, and I absurdly worried about her dirtying her newly washed hair. I bent down to look at her, and discovered that she was crying.  
  
I walked over to her. I wasn't sure what I should say, or what I could say. I didn't know why she was crying, but I was sure it was because of the car seat. It seemed to me that if I asked her what she was thinking, why she was upset, that I would be playing into her fantasy, and I wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do or not. So I kept quiet, until I heard her choke back a sob.  
  
"Buffy? Honey, what happened?" I was back to using the voice I usually used with her. A quiet voice, soothing as I could make it. I knelt down next to her, and tried to take her hands in mind, but she snatched them away as soon as I made contact with her skin.  
  
Buffy stood up and stepped over me. She walked around to the front of the car, and looked at the object sitting there again. She looked at me, and then looked down. I got up and looked at the car seat, and immediately wished I hadn't. It was stained. With blood.  
  
"It was Henry's. I know because it's scuffed in the corner from where Kristin dropped it." Her voice had lost its urgency, and she seemed flat and hopeless. Nothing made sense to me, but I was beginning to believe that something about everything that had happened this afternoon was several degrees above normal. "I'm tired, Dawnie. Will you drive?"  
  
"Where?" I didn't know how I could possibly drive us to Sunnydale.  
  
"Home, I guess. Please don't take me back to that place. I just want to lie down." She was idly tracing the pattern on ducks on the fabric of the car seat, carefully avoiding the thick, dark stain in the center.  
  
Personally, I didn't want to go home. My apartment was the size of a cubicle, and I didn't know where I'd put Buffy. Plus, I was irrationally paranoid that the police were staking my place out, with guns readied and drawn, waiting to arrest me for kidnapping my sister. I didn't want to take Buffy back, either. I finally settled on taking us to a hotel and checking in for the night. I needed time to parse the events of the day.  
  
"Let's go to the Holiday Inn." I stated it simply, and hoped that she didn't ask why we weren't going home. I didn't know what she expected home to be, but I knew it wasn't a dingy apartment that smelled of cat.  
  
Buffy got in the passenger door and sat, staring straight ahead, the car seat on her lap. She didn't put her seatbelt on until I reminded her to. She didn't say anything else for fifteen minutes. Then: "I want to call Giles."  
  
"When we get to the hotel, you can call whoever you want to." I didn't want to argue with her, or tell her that she couldn't call Giles, because he wasn't real. The car seat scared me. I knew it had to be some strange coincidence, but the explanation she gave of its ownership seemed to somehow ring true. I wanted to know more about it.  
  
"Buffy, who's Henry?"  
  
"He's my nephew. Dawnie's baby. It's his birthday today. We were all driving to get ice cream when we hit - I don't even know what we hit." She stared at nothing as she spoke, and it seemed that she had to concentrate on how to move her lips to make the words come. "I was driving."  
  
"Who is 'we all'?"  
  
"Me. Dawn. Kristin and Henry. Spike couldn't come. It was light out." Right, cause Spike was a vampire. I knew a lot about Buffy's world, but I'd never heard before of the other Dawn having babies. It was strange how she talked about some things, and not others.  
  
"What about my - Dawn's - husband?"  
  
"Jack's dead. Vampire. Seven months ago. Dawn was living with me in Mom's old house, and I really shouldn't be telling you all this because I still don't completely trust you."  
  
"I-I'm sorry." I'm not sure if I'm apologizing for Jack, or for the fact that she didn't trust me. There are some situations where the only thing you can and not seem heartless is apologize. Death always made me skittery. When Mom died, all I wanted was to be left alone. Instead I got casseroles.  
  
We drive on. Buffy picks at the upholstery stitching. I sing under my breath. It's a song Mom used to sing to me when I was a child, scared of the dark, and too tired to fall asleep.  
  
"Came from his castle grand…" I think I was trying to sooth both Buffy and myself.  
  
"Came to my cottage door." Buffy was singing along with me.  
  
"His words were few but his looks will linger forevermore." She turned to me then, and she actually smiled. Something about it made me start to believe her.  
  
* * *  
  
We got to the Holiday Inn twenty minutes later. We'd spent the rest of the drive in companionable silence.  
  
I walked into the room, and threw my purse on one of the double beds. It was a standard hotel room, with ugly art on the wall, and uglier bedspreads. An ice bucket sat on the desk, and I grabbed it, eager to get out for a few seconds before the next inevitable confrontation.  
  
I filled the bucket with watery ice, and stood at the machine for a minute longer than I had to, mesmerized by the broken brown plastic and bent metal. Children shrieked fifty feet behind me, in the pool. The air was warm and smelled of chlorine. Usually, I loved that smell. It reminded me of being ten and diving for pennies, or six, riding on my dad's back with orange plastic floaties on my arms. Now it just seemed suffocating. I sighed and trudged back to the room.  
  
Buffy was on the other bed when I got back. She was holding the phone to her ear. It looked like she was listening to it ring. She was tapping her foot at a rapid pace that was jiggling the bed, and the she'd wrapped the cord around her fingers. "Come on…" she pleaded to the phone.  
  
Then.  
  
"Hello? Giles? No, Rupert Giles. Oh. Oh, okay. Could you wake him up? I need to talk to him. It's kind of urgent." She spoke in a clipped tone, biting each word off.  
  
I stepped closer to her, and she held out a hand, stopping me.  
  
"No, I don't think you understand. Who are you?" A pause, then she blinked. "Giles doesn't have a son."  
  
I felt sorry for whoever was on the other end of that conversation. Then it struck me – she'd gotten a hold of someone. There was someone in England, presumably who knew someone named Rupert Giles, and he had the same phone number Buffy must have known. Though I supposed she could have dialed information. Was there international information? I didn't know; I'd never called anyone more than 300 miles away from me.  
  
Buffy's voice was becoming increasingly louder and more agitated. "Look, I know he's getting to be an old man. I know he's taking a nap, but this is important. Just put him on the fucking phone, William." She put special emphasis on the last word, making it come out like a sneer.  
  
The reply from the man Buffy was talking to was so loud I could hear it across the room. "You listen to me, you stupid bint. My father is sleeping, and I'm not going to wake him up to talk to some bloody insane American woman. Bother someone else." Click. He'd hung up on her.  
  
Buffy threw the phone across the room. It crashed into the wall, leaving a dent. "Fucking hell! Just – SHIT!" She stood up and kicked the desk. I was scared she was going to throw a full-fledged temper tantrum, complete with kicking and pulling at her hair. She must have seen the look on my face, though, because she calmed down.  
  
"What now?" I asked her.  
  
"I don't know. Giles will know what's going on, he always does. But the asshole I was talking to wouldn't let me talk to Giles. I guess you gathered that?" I nodded. "I'd fly to England right now, but I don't have the resources. And look at what I'm wearing! I look like cotton candy personified."  
  
I looked down. I'd picked out those pajamas. They were a little too pink for a grown woman, but I liked them.  
  
"Do you have any idea about what's happening?" I asked.  
  
She shook her head. "I have theories, but they're just that. My best guess is that I've been pulled into some sort of alternate reality, but I don't have much experience with that, and I wouldn't know where to start researching if I can't talk to Giles."  
  
It sounded like science fiction. But for some reason, it also felt right. When weird things happened, it was so easy to skip right past the solution that was completely out there, even if it made the most sense. I'd always wanted to believe in the supernatural. I had sometimes secretly envied Buffy and her world.  
  
"Can you tell me more about where you're from? I mean, if this is an alternate reality to you, what is your reality like?" I was genuinely curious.  
  
Buffy sat back down on the bed. I sat on the other bed, crossed my legs Indian style and leaned closer to her. I was like a child at a library story hour. It was ridiculous but I didn't care. I wanted to hear a story.  
  
"I don't even know where to start," she said. "I'm the Slayer. Do you know what that means?"  
  
I did. I'd heard it from Buffy's doctors. "One girl in all the world with the strength and skills to hunt the vampires?" I smiled, hoping she'd be pleased I knew the answer.  
  
"Yeah, that's it. I'm not exactly a girl anymore, but I'm still the Slayer. Or, one of them. There've been two since I died the first time. I've been the Slayer most of my life. I've lived in Sunnydale almost as long. I'm a freelance photographer. I have a sister, Dawn, who is also my best friend. I love her more than just about anything." She looked at me and smiled as she said the last bit. My heart swelled with pride.  
  
"Are you married?" I wondered.  
  
"No. Marriage and children are just too domestic for my lifestyle. I couldn't even maintain a semblance of a normal relationship for the longest time. I'm in one now, but it's not normal. I realized that I'd be a lot happier if I stopped trying to be someone I'm not." She spoke slowly, and with conviction. "I'm in love with a vampire. Spike's his name. We've been together almost twenty years now."  
  
The way she said that made me think that she'd said it many times before, and was sick of justifying her choice. Like she expected to be judged for it. I certainly wasn't going to judge. I knew nothing about vampires; I didn't even believe in them. I felt she wanted my approval, though. I didn't know how to give it, so I just smiled at her, and then asked, "Do you want to tell me about him?"  
  
"There's no way I really could. He defies description. He's brave and loyal, but he's also petty and demanding, and sometimes he makes me so mad I want to pummel him. I even have on occasion, a long time ago. He's complicated and beautiful, and he's mine." She shrugged. "Spike is something you have to experience yourself."  
  
"I think I get your meaning," I said. "Would you tell me about… me? About Dawn?"  
  
"Like I said before, Dawn is my best friend. She's actually one of my only friends. She's beautiful, but she doesn't look like you. She's a high school teacher. So was Jack. Dawn's probably the strongest person I know. She's certainly stronger than I am. When Jack died, she kept it together so well. She's kind, and funny, and she's a wonderful mother. And now I'm making her sound like a saint, and she isn't. She also takes my clothes without asking. Still! You'd think that a grown woman would ask, but since I'm her sister, she thinks it's her right or something." Buffy laughed, and looked down at what she was wearing. "These would have been safe, though."  
  
"We're going to need to get you some clothes." I said. "I'm starving, too. Let's order a pizza."  
  
"That's a great idea. You order it – anything but mushroom. I need to take a shower. I've got tire dirt in my hair." Buffy got up and went into the bathroom, leaving me alone.  
  
I ordered a pizza, which would be there in thirty to forty-five minutes. I sat down on the bed and pulled my legs to my chest. I was glad Buffy was actually talking to me now. She'd laughed with me, and she'd told me things. The more she talked, the harder it was to believe what I had my entire life – that Buffy was out of her mind. I needed something to occupy my mind. I turned the television on.  
  
Commercial, commercial, news… Wait. "The window was broken, and the resident of the room, Buffy Summers, is missing. Police are investigating this as a possible abduction, and…" I turned the television off.  
  
I was very glad we hadn't gone to my place. We obviously couldn't go there now. They'd just take Buffy back, and pump her full of drugs, and she'd drool and smile and not talk anymore. So that wasn't an option. We'd stay here for the night. Tomorrow we'd have to get clothes for Buffy, and formulate some kind of plan. I didn't know where to go, but I had the feeling Buffy had some sort of plan. Or if she didn't, she'd think of one. I was already deferring to her, and she'd only been lucid six hours or so.  
  
It was probably wrong, but I felt almost giddy. It was like some kind of grand adventure. On the lam. Something supernatural afoot. And my sister, awake. At this point, she was probably more awake than I was. Sitting still made me realize just how tired I was. I kicked myself under the covers, rolled over, and closed my eyes.  
  
I must have fallen asleep, because I was startled awake by three things happening at once: Buffy stepped out of the shower, someone knocked on the door, and the phone rang. I sat up and blinked groggily.  
  
"Get the phone, you're closer," said Buffy, who was wearing a hotel bathrobe. "I'll get the pizza. Is the money nearby?"  
  
"On the desk." I pointed. By this time the phone was on the fifth ring. I secretly hoped whoever it was would hang up before I answered it. No one knew we were here.  
  
"Hello?" I mumbled into the handset.  
  
"Hello," said a British accented male voice. "Is Buffy Summers there by any chance? I'd like to talk to her. This is Rupert Giles." 


	3. Buffy

(quick note: switching POV's here, though that's pretty obvious…)  
  
I heard Dawn – I was starting to think of her as Dawn now, it seemed – answer the telephone, but I wasn't really paying attention. I figured she must have called someone while I was in the shower. I'd staying in a long time, trying to scrub off the smell of hospital and blood and terror. You'd think that with a life like mine, waking up in an alternate reality would be par for the course, but I was still freaked. And worried about Dawn – my Dawn – and the kids.  
  
I was trying to be as positive as possible, so I took the pizza with a smile, handing the delivery guy the cash with my free hand. I walked over to the bed, looking for a place to put the pizza down, and I saw her face. She looked scared, and she was blinking rapidly. My arms almost gave out then, and I had to recover quickly to prevent the pizza from spilling all over the bedspread. My Slayer reflexes hadn't slowed with age, luckily.  
  
"Who is it?" I mouthed to Dawn. She didn't say anything, and instead thrust the phone at me. I took it, and sat down in the place she had vacated, which was still warm. The handset was sweaty.  
  
"Hello?" I said cautiously.  
  
"Buffy?" It was Giles. I would have recognized his voice anywhere.  
  
"Giles!" I practically screamed. I sometimes forgot that he was old now. It probably wasn't a great idea to be yelling into his ear. "Sorry," I said, lowering my voice. "I'm just so happy to hear your voice."  
  
"It's quite all right, dear. When William told me you'd called, I was furious at him for not waking me up."  
  
This was weird. He was talking to me like my Giles might have. Well, minus the son part. Why did he care that I had called at all? Who was I to him in this world? I was about to ask him when he answered.  
  
"I've been dreaming about you for almost thirty years. If I didn't know better, I'd think a figment of my imagination had called me." He chuckled at that last sentence.  
  
My brain was working on overdrive now. He'd been dreaming of me. Part of my life had blended into this one, like watercolors on a canvas. It made me wonder how many of my dreams weren't creations of my own mind, or even Slayer Dreams, but snapshots of real people, worlds away. "You have." I stated it, didn't ask. "What about me?"  
  
"Lots of things. Fighting vampires, mainly." That didn't surprise me in the least. I hoped he hadn't dreamed about me doing other things with vampires. I snorted at that thought, and I could almost see Giles looking annoyed with me.  
  
"Buffy – the thing is, today I dreamed you died."  
  
"I didn't. I've been dead before, and it's not like this. The art is much better, for one thing." I said lightly. I'd never quite gotten over the nervous tendency to kid my way through tense times. Dawn had once told me it made me seem as though I didn't care. Which was kind of ironic, because I tended to do it more in situations I cared the most about. "I'm sorry. I want to hear about your dream, Giles. Please tell me."  
  
  
  
Giles took a deep breath. I could hear it from across the ocean. That always meant he was about to say something he didn't want to have to say. Like when he told me I'd have to kill my sister to save the world. I don't think I'd ever heard anything worse than those words, and I doubted anything he was about to say could top them.  
  
"When I dream about you, it's like a window into someone else's life. They aren't like normal dreams, where pictures shift and scenes change while you glance down. My dreams are more grounded in reality. Like I'm a silent observer of whatever is happening to you. Today, when the dream started, you were in a car with your sister, and your niece and nephew." He paused, as if waiting for me to confirm that something similar had happened.  
  
He was right, of course. It still scared me. If he knew we were in the car, he'd probably seen the accident. And if he'd seen the accident, and thought I was dead… My brain didn't want to go where logic was leading it. My thoughts were racing ahead of Giles's voice, and I had to slow down, stop panicking and listen to what he was telling me. That was a lot easier said than done.  
  
I nodded silently. I sometimes forget that the phone doesn't allow for body language. "Yeah." I said, simply. I waited for him to tell of my doom.  
  
"It was raining. You were behind the wheel. Dawn was sitting in the passenger seat, and her daughter was sitting in the front seat, between you. You told her she should sit in back and keep Henry company, but she told you she was four, and therefore old enough to sit in the front with the adults. When she said this, she was sitting on your lap, and you looked over her head at her mother and smiled," he said. He was getting all the details right, and he spoke of Kristin as if he knew her.  
  
It was slightly egotistical, but I favored Kristin over Henry slightly because she reminded me of myself as a little girl. Earlier, when she was on my lap, she'd been swinging her legs, and each time her legs would complete their arc, a small Mary Jane would slap against my calf. Her hands were sticky where they touched my arm, and her butt was surprisingly bony for someone so small. It was bliss to have her there. Kristin was wearing a pink dress, and red tights that she insisted matched. She smelled like baby shampoo.  
  
"Henry started crying. Dawn turned around to see what was wrong." I wanted him to stop. If he didn't say anything, maybe it hadn't actually happened the way I remembered it happening.  
  
Giles must have sensed my apprehension. His voice took on the tone of a loving father, trying to sooth his scared child. "Tell me when you're ready for me to continue."  
  
It amazed me that he felt this way about me when, in this world, he hadn't ever even seen me while awake. At the same time, it didn't surprise me at all. He was Giles; of course he would love me. It was something that had always been constant in the chaos of my life. He was my north star.  
  
"I'm okay, Giles." I said, and I was sure the quaver in my voice said just the opposite.  
  
"When Dawn turned, there was a flash of bright light. You were blinded, and it scared you. You hit the brakes hard, and the car spun. Kristin screamed." His words were becoming choked now. He might be crying, I couldn't tell.  
  
I took over.  
  
"Kristin screamed, and I looked over at her. I shouldn't have. I looked away from the road at the most critical moment. There was a truck, and if I'd been looking, I might have been able to – to do something different. We hit. I remember. There were so many noises. The metal crunched, and there was breaking glass, and Kristin was still screaming, and Henry was crying, and Dawn was making a high-pitched noise that was verging on a shriek. The airbag inflated, and I didn't see anything after that." I was crying now. "There was a pain on my left side like nothing I'd felt before, and then everything went black."  
  
I stopped there. Partially it's because I didn't have anything else to say, because, well, blackout. But also because even if there were more to say, I couldn't have said it. I was crying pretty hard. It was worse, not seeing what happened to them. When I closed my eyes, I saw tiny bodies covered in blood, baby blue eyes staring at me in accusation. I was supposed to protect them, not harm them.  
  
If the accident had happened in movie slow motion, and I'd had time to think, I'm sure that instead of my own life flashing before my eyes, Kristin's and Henry's lives would have. A slide show in my mind of baby drool and icing in hair the texture of cotton candy.  
  
When Kristin was born, I'd been there. Dawn wanted me in the delivery room. I stood holding one hand; Jack had the other. Spike and Xander were pacing a hole in the waiting room carpet. When it was over, Dawn held her baby and smiled. Jack went to tell the mother hens, and I stayed in the room.  
  
"Buffy?" Dawn asked me, "What do I tell her about things that go bump in the night?"  
  
It was a good question. If Kristin knew from the moment she could understand what people were saying that fairy tale monsters were sometimes real, would she grow up being afraid of her shadow? Would she cry in the night and never want to leave her mother's side? And if she didn't know, would she be in more danger? In the end, Dawn decided to play it by ear. She wouldn't ever purposely lie to her child, she was adamant about that, but she wouldn't go out of her way to explain ooglie booglies either.  
  
I hadn't been there when Henry was born. I was off saving the world from something big and nasty. I knew Dawn understood, - how could she not have? – but she still seemed upset when I walked in the room. I supposed some of it had to do with the slime I got on the pretty blue baby blanket, too. It was things like that that made me glad I was an aunt rather than a mother.  
  
Giles was still on the line. I don't know how long he waited while I cried, but I set the phone down after about a minute and curled up on the bed, letting the misery wash over me. I'd known from the moment I opened my eyes that it was going to hit, and it was almost a relief to be done waiting for it to come. I wanted to pick up the phone and tell Giles not to worry, that I'd be okay, but I couldn't even find the strength to roll over.  
  
I felt a hand on my back. Dawn was rubbing circles on the terrycloth covering my shoulder blades. She was murmuring soothing words, as one would use with a hysterical child. She reminded me very much of, well, herself at that moment that it was both comforting and painful.  
  
I somehow found it in me to sit up, and I threw my arms around her and hugged her tightly.  
  
"Ow!" she said, suspiring us both. I guess Slayer strength is something that knows no universal boundaries.  
  
"Is he still on the phone?" I asked her, though there was no reason she should know better than I.  
  
"I think so," she said. "Wouldn't it be beeping at us if there was no one on the line?"  
  
There was no question about it. She was Dawn, always seeing the practical side of things, and often making me feel stupid in the process. I was supposed to be older and wiser. "Oh. Right." I said.  
  
I picked up the phone. "Giles?  
  
"Yes, Buffy?" He didn't even sound impatient. I loved him so much. "I think it would be a good idea for us to meet up. Would you be able to fly to London?"  
  
"No. I have no passport, or any other identification on me, no money, and I broke out of a mental institution today."  
  
"Oh. Well then, I'm coming there."  
  
He asked me where I was, and how should he get there, what airport should he fly into, and how long would we be there in case he needed to call. I didn't know the answer to anything, so I handed the phone to Dawn, who looked at it as if it were a live snake. "Take it," I mouthed to her. She finally took it, but made sure I saw the glare she was giving me.  
  
I faintly heard her giving Giles the information about where we were staying. I got up and went back into the bathroom. I'd just taken a shower twenty minutes ago, and I looked horrible. I wanted to get back in the shower and scrub away at myself until I didn't feel the impact of metal upon metal, but I resisted the temptation. Instead I splashed my face with cool water and blew my nose.  
  
The body I now inhabited was my own, and yet it was not. It felt strange, but not so much so that I'd even noticed it when I first woke up. It was like that dizzy feeling of having slept too long in a bed that was too warm. Before I'd woken up, I'd had frantic dreams about being asleep, and not able to rouse myself. It felt almost as though I was still sleeping.  
  
When I was in the shower, I'd examined myself. I'd lost muscle mass. I guess sitting around in a catatonic coma for thirty years doesn't really give a body much of a work out. There were scars missing, too. It was strange to see smooth skin where there should have been raised silver streaks. I liked my scars. They were proof I'd lived.  
  
It occurred to me that while I was in this body, there was a Buffy in mine. And, if what Giles said about seeing me die was right… it meant that the Buffy who'd been living in this world had died in mine. And that left me trapped. 


	4. William

* * *  
  
My father has done many things in his life that have forever labeled our family as "eccentric." He would never buy me new clothes, insisting it was a waste of good money, and that second hand sweaters had more character, anyway. We didn't have a TV when I was growing up. I had to go to college before he'd let me buy one of my own. When other children were going on breaks to sunny islands in the Mediterranean, I was hauled off to Africa, while he did cultural studies.  
  
I loved my father, and I understood and appreciated the hard work it must have been to raise me, a difficult boy, by himself. And he'd done it on the lousy salary of a university anthropology professor. But there were some things about him I just didn't get. There were some things, too, that made me wonder if he was experiencing some sort of senior dementia.  
  
"You're doing what?!" I asked him as he threw several pairs of slacks into his threadbare suitcase. I was hoping I'd simply heard him wrong. There was no way he was flying across the bloody planet to meet some woman young enough to be his daughter.  
  
"I'm flying to LA to meet Buffy," he said, making it sound like I was the one who'd gone daft.  
  
"No, you're not." I told him, and started to take a shirt out of the suitcase.  
  
He grabbed it and tugged it away from me, shoving it back in its place with great force. The entire bed shook. He turned to look at me, and I knew I'd made a grave error in judgment. Seventy years old or not, he was still my father, and that meant he could still yell at me whenever he felt like it.  
  
"Yes, I AM." His voice rose to a fevered pitch, and I took a step backwards. "I know you think that since you're a grown man with your own life now that you know better than I do. But you don't, and I can still make my own decisions until you lock me in a home. So back off."  
  
I took another step back. I'd pushed him to the boiling point. It was a game I liked to play when I was younger: see how much abuse dad'll take before he yells. His patience seemed to shorten as his years lengthened, though, and I hadn't even been trying. I was genuinely concerned for his safety. I had no idea how he'd met this woman, or who she was, or what he thought he was doing. But I knew my father well enough to know that nothing I could say now would stop him. So I did the only thing I knew to do: I got myself a ticket to LA.  
  
* * *  
  
It was a long and highly uneventful flight. Dad was still mad at me, and he spent the time alternately reading or sleeping. He snored so loudly that I was sure he was doing it just to spite me. If smoking had been allowed on the flight, I would have done it, just to get back at him. If I was acting childish, I'd only learned it from him.  
  
I was restless. I tried to concentrate on the in flight movies, but watching the pictures made my stomach swim. I'd never been able to read in moving vehicles, either. Instead, I busied myself by tinkering with the light switches and seat adjustments, until the woman next to me cleared her throat and glared. While I was all for purposely annoying my father, I wasn't quite rude enough to do it to a perfect stranger. I spent the rest of the flight staring straight ahead, and wishing for sleep. I might have dozed off once or twice, but if I did, it was one of those instances where the mind can't quite discern the difference between sleep and wakefulness. By the time we touched down in LA, my legs were cramped, my contacts had glued themselves to my dry eyes, and I knew a killer case of jetlag was awaiting me.  
  
Dad was still sleeping when the flight attendants announced it was safe to unbuckle and get our luggage. I had to poke him awake, and from the moment he opened his eyes, he was chipper. It wasn't fair. I was the son, and he was the father. Rightfully, he should be the one feeling like an old man. I guessed meeting his ladylove had put some spring back into his step.  
  
The airport was blindingly bright. I covered my eyes with my hand as we walked into the gate. The sun was directly in my eyes, and I didn't even see the woman before she'd launched herself at my father.  
  
"Giles!" she squeaked at him as she hugged. From my vantage point, it looked like she was going to break every one of his ribs if she didn't let him go. He, however, didn't seem to mind.  
  
I looked around, not wanting to witness the public display of affection. My eyes met those of a girl who looked just as uncomfortable as I felt. I still hadn't gotten a very clear look at the blur I assumed to be the Buffy creature, but it was clear at a glance that this girl must be her sister.  
  
Both women shared hair the color that was sometimes rudely referred to as dishwater blonde. They both had a small frame, almost dainty, like one would expect a southern belle to be. The younger girl was slightly taller, I noticed. Her eyes were blue, and wide, and the look they wore made her look happy, and confused, and very, very young.  
  
She held her hand out to me. "Hi," she said. "I'm Dawn, Buffy's sister."  
  
I took the hand she offered and shook it. She really was a tiny little thing. My hand must have been twice the size of hers. Though she was clearly nervous, her palms were dry, and she had a firm grip. I liked her immediately.  
  
"William," I said, and gave her a modified version of my lady killer smile. It wasn't my style to seduce little girls.  
  
I could see my father and Buffy still having their hugfest out of the corner of my eye. I inclined my head towards them. "Want to ditch the lovebirds and go find our suitcases?"  
  
Dawn nodded gratefully, and we headed towards the baggage claim.  
  
I tried to make some kind of conversation as we walked. "So," I asked Dawn, "Are you in high school?"  
  
She made a noise indicating I'd offended her somehow. "College, actually. And I'm a junior. I'm nineteen, but I graduated from high school early. Not like I'm a supergenius or anything; I just wanted out of there, so I took all the extra classes I could. High school's kind of like prison, I think, only the clothes are better."  
  
I laughed. "Well, if anyone could make a orange jumper look good, it would be you."  
  
Dawn blushed and smiled. I'd apparently made up for the high school faux pas.  
  
"What about you?" she asked. "Do you follow your father around the world for a living?"  
  
"Oh no, my life is much more mundane than that. I'm a reporter."  
  
She seemed impressed. "I wanted to be a writer for a while. Then I discovered psychology. I'd always been interested in it, because of Buffy, but I never understood anything. When I took my first class, though, I was hooked. The mind is just so fascinating." Dawn bubbled. It was refreshing to see someone so in love with her studies.  
  
I assumed that Buffy must be a psychologist as well, and I asked Dawn.  
  
She looked at me curiously. "You don't know anything about Buffy, or why you're here, do you?"  
  
"My father wasn't exactly forthcoming, no." I admitted. "Why, do you know what's going on?"  
  
From the look on her face, I knew that she did, but she clammed up then. "I don't think I should say anything, if you don't know. I don't want Buffy to get mad at me."  
  
There wasn't much to say after that. I didn't want to press Dawn. We got to the carousal. Dawn sat down on a chair, and started swinging her legs. The action made her look even younger, but I didn't say anything.  
  
We were surrounded by people who had been on my flight. The baggage hadn't come yet, and everyone was milling around, trying to get a good spot, so they wouldn't have to lunge across three people and a stroller to grab their suitcase. I just stood by Dawn, preferring to wait until everyone else had gone. There was really no point in hurrying, anyway. My father and the elder Summers had not yet made it to baggage claim.  
  
I had the urge to put my hand on Dawn's shoulder, to comfort her. I didn't know what was wrong, or if she would accept it from a stranger, but the urge was there anyway. I felt like I knew this girl, like we were old friends, and that it was my duty to look out for her. It was very strange, and made me more curious than ever as to what the hell was going on.  
  
My initial thought had been that my dad had got himself a girlfriend. He'd been spending a lot of time doing research on the internet, and I thought he might have met someone in a chat room. I didn't exactly disapprove of him having a love life; my mother had been dead since I was four years old, and he'd hardly dated anyone that I could remember. He sometimes still spoke of her as though she were alive, sometimes saying that Jenny liked a certain song, so we should listen to it at dinner.  
  
I stared off into space. I might have fallen asleep standing up, if that's possible, because I remember seeing a mad dash to get luggage, and then I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it was just Dawn and me. Still no Dad or Buffy. I started to get paranoid that maybe she'd kidnapped him.  
  
"Sure is taking them a long time," said Dawn, echoing my thoughts.  
  
I sat down next to her; I was tired of standing.  
  
We waited in silence for several more minutes, and then I heard a voice say, "Dawn! There you are! You didn't tell me where you were going, and I got nervous!"  
  
Dawn sounded annoyed. "Oh, please, Buffy. You were being all glompy with the old guy, and you didn't even see I was there. I just got bored, and William was with me the whole time. Besides, it's not like I'm the one who may be wanted by the police."  
  
The police? There was definitely more going on here, and I wanted to know what. I stood up, and turned around.  
  
Dawn was standing, hands on her hips, glaring at Buffy. She also looked like she was about to cry. My father was standing with his hand on Buffy's back, taking everything in silently. Buffy stood by his side, looking at her sister. She turned to look at me, as I had made my presence known.  
  
The look on her face, which had been somewhere between relief and fear changed instantly to shock and recognition. It confused me, because I was sure I'd never seen her before in my life. I was right in thinking there was a strong family resemblance between Buffy and Dawn. Buffy's facial structure was so similar that some things had to be familial traits. The eyes were different, though. Buffy's were wide and green, and right now, they were filling with tears. She looked so hurt and beautiful that it broke my heart. I'd never been accused of being a romantic before in my life, but I swear I fell in love with Buffy Summers that very instant.  
  
Her lips moved, like she was trying to say something, but couldn't get the muscles to obey her. A tear fell from her eye, and her tongue darted out to catch it. Silence once again filling the airport, enclosing us all in its awkward bubble. I would have said something, but I didn't know what I should say. It probably wasn't the best moment to propose marriage, especially given the fact she may well have been involved with my father.  
  
She shifted her eyes slightly, and then she was looking directly into my soul. "Spike?" she said. 


	5. Interlude: Sunnydale, Dawn.

I didn't think that I'd lost consciousness. I remember the world going black, and, at that moment, embracing the death that waited for me. I'm not sure what hit me, or even why I blacked out, because when I came to, I was in the hospital, and my only injury besides the scrapes and bruises that were to be expected was a broken arm. It was a little too similar to the one other car accident I'd ever been in. This time, however, there was no Willow to blame in a childish pique.  
  
They were all hovering around my bed when I opened my eyes. Xander looked drunk. Spike had a look in his eyes that, had I not known him better, I would have sworn was murderous. Giles was sitting in a chair right next to my bed. He looked tired. These were my heroes, my champions, and my only remaining family.  
  
It fell to Giles to tell me what had happened. Poor Giles. He always had to tell us the things that were too hard for others to speak aloud. He had already taken his glasses off. I wondered if it was so he wouldn't have to see the look on my face when he told me. Before he even opened his mouth, I knew he would be telling of death.  
  
"Dawn," he said slowly. "You were in an accident."  
  
As if I didn't know that. As if I were simply lying in a hospital bed surrounded by roses and pity because it was a fun thing to do. I didn't say anything, because I feared I would yell at Giles, and he was an old man now, with a weak heart. Nothing that had happened was his fault. I nodded and closed my eyes, trying to block out the world for the few seconds it took to moisten my eyes. When I opened them again, I looked down at the blue bedspread, and the ugly hospital gown I was wearing.  
  
"Buffy and the children…" he took a breath, and I wanted to tell him to just say it, that I knew from the way he carefully selected his words that what he was going to say was as bad as it could possibly be. "They didn't make it, Dawn."  
  
As I listened to him, images flashed before my eyes. Buffy clutching at the wheel, and frantically trying to steer us to safety. The truck – it was red – coming towards us. Kristin, in her party dress, flying forward. A fairy drifting through the rain. I knew what was coming, knew what Giles was about to say.  
  
In a way, it was a relief to have the words out there. Now that I knew my children and my sister were gone, I could begin to grieve for them, and try to move on. I'd been through this so many times before. There were so many deaths in my past. First Mom, then Buffy, Willow, Tara, Anya, my father, and Jack, my love. And now Giles was telling me my babies were gone, too. And Buffy, again.  
  
I felt myself speed through several of the stages of grief then. Denial: They weren't really dead. They couldn't be. The Powers would not be that cruel to me, so soon after the death of my husband. I was still unconscious, dreaming this. Anger: It was Buffy's fault; she was driving. My fault, for suggesting we go out in the first place. It was the other driver's fault. It was Henry's fault, for crying.  
  
I stopped myself there. I didn't want to think anymore. Instead, I started crying.  
  
Spike spoke then, for the first time since I'd woken up. "That's it, luv. Cry, you'll feel better." I wondered how much he'd cried himself. Between us all, we'd surely cry enough to flood Sunnydale in our sorrow. He took my hand and squeezed it.  
  
Xander walked over to me, and began stroking my hair. I turned to him and embraced him. He felt solid, and smelled of sweat and beer. I held on to him, and the world faded into the mingled sounds of our grief.  
  
* * * 


	6. Buffy

When I first saw him, I thought he wasn't real. He appear solid, standing with his hand on his lean hips, staring at me with the same intense gaze I'd become accustomed to. He was wearing jeans and a leather bomber. His hair was dark where it should have been blinding white, but there was no hiding those cheekbones, or those lips. It was Spike.  
  
I knew I was going to cry. It was stupid, really. I'd cried so much since I'd found myself here that by now nothing should faze me. But there I was, looking into the face of my lover, a mask worn by another man. I felt a tear drop from my eye and slide down my cheek, and I licked it away, denying its existence. Though I knew it wasn't him, knew it couldn't be him standing in a beam of light, my lips said his name. "Spike?"  
  
He didn't respond, really. Of course not; he's not Spike. He can't be Spike. I had been forming a theory that, in this word, there are no vampires. So Spike would have never existed. William the Bloody would have lived and died in England a century ago. And yet there, in front of me, was his doppelganger.  
  
Dawn looked at me as though she were reassessing her view of my sanity. She knew who Spike was; she'd spent the last day and a half listening to my stories of him. "Buffy," she said in a voice eerily reminiscent of my Dawn in her teenage years, "This is William. Will – yum." She looked at Spike – William helplessly. I didn't know why she was so upset with me, but I wasn't very concerned about that at the moment.  
  
"Sorry." I said to William. "You just look so much like…"  
  
"Spike?" he finished for me. "I can't say that I get that all the time." He smiled, and I felt the tears coming again. This time I managed to control them.  
  
"Buffy," said Giles, "this is my son, William."  
  
Well, that was unexpected. I needed to sit down. My legs were all rubbery and I was losing my balance. I walked over and sat down on the chair next to Dawn. Spike was Giles's son. It made about as much sense as anything that had happened to me recently. William, Buff, I silently reminded myself.  
  
Giles was concerned. I could tell he was hovering over me before I even opened my eyes. Then, suddenly, I couldn't open them.  
  
A flash, and I was in the ground. It was dark and I couldn't open my eyes. I knew this feeling; it was something I'd never forget. I was in a coffin. I could feel the satin on my arms, and the dampness seeping into my skin. I felt heavy, like my veins were filled with mercury. I tried to lift my arms to pound on the lid but I couldn't. I tried to open my mouth to scream, but it was sewn shut.  
  
Just as suddenly as it had come, it was gone again. I was sitting in the chair, by the baggage carousal, and Dawn, Giles and William were all standing over me. They wore identical expressions of concern, though Dawn looked more scared than the others. I realized it was only she who knew about the mental institution.  
  
"Are you okay?" Dawn asked. I could tell she was partially blaming herself for being snotty.  
  
"I'm fine," I said. "I mean, I think I'm fine. Something very freaky just happened. It was almost like a hallucination. I was in a coffin, buried alive."  
  
"That's fascinating," said Giles, at the same time William said, "That's horrible."  
  
"Let's get out of here," I said. "We have to figure out what's going on, and this is really not the place to do it."  
  
There were only two suitcases left, and I assumed they must belong to Giles and William. I took one, and handed the other off to William. As we made the exchange, my fingers brushed his. It was so cliché and romance novelish. I felt something pass between us then. A spark of something. Lust or longing, or possibly understanding. He smiled.  
  
Dawn stood by and watched. She seemed a bit jealous, and I remembered how she had once had a crush on Spike. A line I'd read somewhere popped into my head: Destiny struggles to reassert the pattern that was meant to be. I felt like a puppet whose strings were being pulled in too many different directions. I'd never been a believer in destiny. Too many things had happened in my life to shatter such childish illusions. Even The Powers hadn't been able to control my life. Now I wondered if I'd just been fooling myself the entire time.  
  
We made our way to Dawn's car in silence. Judging by the looks on their faces, I couldn't have freaked them out any more if I'd suddenly sprouted wings, or a third eye. I was still pretty shaky from the experience myself. I let Dawn drive; I didn't want to have another of those fun little flashes into the grave on the freeway.  
  
I let Giles sit in the front, which left William and me together in the back seat. He opened the door and held it for me. It was an unconscious gesture on his part, but still slightly unnerving. They was he did it was automatic, and it reminded me of Spike. I shook my head and silently berated myself. It was inevitable that I would start finding similarities even if there were none there.  
  
I got in, slid over and buckled myself in. William got in and shut the door. Giles and Dawn were already situated, and Dawn was fiddling with the radio, looking for just the right bubble gummy pop song. I suddenly felt very old and tired. I sighed and slouched down as far as the belt would permit before it cut into my neck.  
  
"Is everyone buckled?" asked Dawn. It was a simple question, something that Mom must have said to us a million times on family outings. It showed that this girl – my sister – cared about the safety of her passengers, and it made me glad she was driving. Dawn had been more than eager to learn to drive, and in Sunnydale, she'd gotten her license two full years before Spike finally convinced me to get behind the wheel.  
  
When she was satisfied that everyone was secure, Dawn pulled out of the parking lot, and we were off. It would be at least a half an hour until we got back to our hotel. I wanted to take a short nap, but I was scared that if I closed my eyes I'd open them to the dark and cramped feel of death. I let my head fall against the glass of the window, and stared out as the cars rushed past us in a rainbow blur.  
  
After I'd gotten off the phone with Giles the night before, Dawn and I had slept. Though I shouldn't have, I slept well, and without dreams. I woke early, and watched her sleep. She looked more like my sister than the Dawn I'd known in my other life. Her features had come from genetics, not from green energy and monk magic. I was glad she was there. I couldn't have faced life without a sister. I wondered how I'd ever been able to do it.  
  
When she woke up, we went to breakfast. It was embarrassing, having to wear pajamas, but it was either that or the bathrobe, and given the choice, I took the jammies. Dawn told me that I was on the news as a probable abduction. I wasn't too worried about being found and taken to the police, though. They must have had more pressing matters than a middle aged chronically mentally ill woman to worry about.  
  
I didn't have any money, of course. Dawn withdrew some from her savings, but she wouldn't tell me how much she had. She bought herself a few pairs of jeans and a sweatshirt, and gave me money to get my own clothes. I went casual, too, grabbing jeans and a few t-shirts. I'd outgrown my leather phase, thank god. I firmly believed that no one past a certain age should even be allowed to browse for leather pants. Unless, of course, that person happened to be a vampire.  
  
I looked over at William. He was looking out the opposite window. Or, rather, his head was turned, and I assumed he was looking. He could have been sleeping. I didn't say anything to him, though I wanted to. There were a million questions in my mind. How old was he? Who was his mother? What did he do? Did he smoke? Was he both arrogant and unsure of himself? Would he kiss me like the world was ending, even when it wasn't?  
  
Stop. I needed to stop this. No matter what I did, I would not make this man into Spike. And I would not, could not use him to ease the ache in my heart. If I truly was stuck in this dimension, I needed to feel my way around it slowly, and not crash into walls that broke hearts.  
  
I turned back to my window.  
  
Last night, I'd asked Dawn about Sunnydale. She'd told me that it didn't exist, and I, of course, didn't believe her. She was right, though. I'd looked at a road map when we'd stopped to get gas, and there was no Sunnydale on the map. There was no Sunnydale, but there was a Giles, and a Dawn. I wondered about Xander and Willow, and all the other people who'd lived in Sunnydale. Were they were, too, but scattered across the globe? I had no clue how to find them.  
  
How many things were different here? I would never know for certain. What made a reality? What small choice had spun this one? It was dizzying to think about all the possibilities, so I tried not to.  
  
I stared into space and thought of nothing for the rest of the drive. When we got to our hotel, Giles and William checked into a room two down from ours, and then went to unpack while Dawn and I waited. She flopped on the bed and grabbed up the remote, but I was too nervous to sit. I paced back and forth until Dawn told me to sit down because I was blocking her view.  
  
I snorted at her, because she appeared to be watching some sort of infomercial, but I went into the bathroom anyway. There wasn't anything I needed to do in there, but I could pace without bothering Dawn. It was kind of tiny for pacing, but I'd make do.  
  
Just as I was finishing my first lap around the tile, it happened again. My eyes didn't close this time, and I could see both the tile of the bathroom floor rising up to meet my falling form, and the darkness that surrounded me in the ground. I tried to catch myself, but wound up hitting my elbow hard against the toilet. My other hand hit the tile, and I was lucky I didn't bang my head on the bathtub. I was seeing stars as it was.  
  
Hoping to block out the double vision, I closed my eyes. There was nothing to see. It wasn't a comforting darkness, like after the lights go out, and you know your eyes will soon adjust, and you start to make out faint shapes. It was dark light nothingness. A black hole, and I couldn't find my way out. I tried again to move my arms and nothing happened. I tried to open my eyes, because seeing double was better than seeing nothing, and I found I couldn't budge my eyelids.  
  
I thought I was justified in panicking, then. I twisted and turned, trying to move my prone body. I screamed through my closed mouth. I was suffocating. I didn't know how to make it all stop.  
  
Then, suddenly, it was better. I felt a hand on my shoulders, holding me still. I opened my eyes and saw William.  
  
"You were screaming," he told me. "Screaming and thrashing about. You couldn't have hurt yourself."  
  
So I had been moving myself, though I couldn't feel it. My body had worked on its own. It was all in my head; I wasn't buried alive again. I had plenty of oxygen, plenty of light. I was fine. Fine.  
  
But something wasn't right.  
  
I knew it. I knew I wasn't simply having flashbacks, or hallucinating. The first time, when Willow had brought me back, it was terrifying, but I was able to do something about it. I'd broken free. I wasn't passive. It wasn't a flashback because it wasn't the same. And though the signs seemed to point to it being a hallucination, I didn't think it was. Slayer sense or women's intuition or other sixth sense told me that it was more than that, and that I needed to find out what was making it happen.  
  
"I'm fine." I lied to William. I got up on my own, ignoring his concerned look and outstretched hand. I had to talk to Dawn.  
  
She was still on the bed, television flashing brightly in her eyes. I walked over and stood directly in front of it.  
  
"Hey!" she said and looked petulant. "I was watching that."  
  
"It happened again," I said simply. I need you to tell me exactly what happened before I woke up in that hospital.  
  
* * * 


	7. Interlude: Sunnydale, Spike.

This part was pretty hard to write, and it's still not the best. I found I can't write Spike POV very well. It's significantly better than my first draft, though, and I have saff and Erin to thank for that. So thanks, guys!  
  
  
  
In tragic romantic epics, you'll often read of lovers who knew when something had happened to their beloved. The first time she died, I didn't know her. The second time, I witnessed it. It tore my heart out, right, but I was there. I saw it. The third time Buffy died, I didn't have a bleeding clue.  
  
I was sleeping. Dreaming like sodding baby. Buffy and I were sitting in the sunlight. She was looking at me with the adoring look I'd never quite gotten used to. I leaned over to kiss her and she spoke, in Xander's voice.  
  
"Spike."  
  
"What is it, pet?"  
  
"Spike, you have to wake up."  
  
Hands on my shoulders shock me roughly and I opened one eye. It was Harris.  
  
"Go 'way." I mumbled and rolled over. I was sleepy, and not in the mood for a bloody man to man chat.  
  
"Spike, it's Buffy. She's…" he had to stop; his voice cracked.  
  
I sat up. Looked at Harris. He was a mess. His hair was mussed more than usual, and his shit was buttoned incorrectly. He'd been crying. After twenty years I still wouldn't call the man my friend. I'd stopped wanting to punch him every time I laid eyes on him, though, and that pleased Buffy.  
  
"What's happened," I asked, not knowing, even then, that she was dead. Bloody clueless, I was. "Demon?"  
  
"Car accident," he said. "Buffy, Kristin and Henry… they're all dead."  
  
No. Not Buffy. I got up. Paced around the room. Looked for something I could hit. There wasn't anything. I looked at Xander and considered hitting him. I settled for the wall.  
  
Bang! I punched it once. Twice. Plaster from the ceiling started to fall down onto my hair. Bang! Hurled my whole body towards the wall this time. The floor vibrated below my feet. Buffy's vanity stood near me, an easy target. I picked it up, threw it. Perfumes and lotions rained across the room. I fell to the floor. Looked at my hands. I'd bloodied the knuckles. Stopped. Took deep, unnecessary breaths. I hadn't cried yet.  
  
"Will you shut the hell up? You're throwing a temper tantrum."  
  
"I suppose I should drink a bottle of vodka instead?" I sneered.  
  
He clenched and unclenched his fists. His face was white. I felt sorry for him then, for god knows what reason. I let up. Calmed down.  
  
"Dawn?"  
  
"In the hospital. Giles is with her. They called him first. He called me, told me to get you. Dawn's in good condition. She's unconscious, and she's got a broken arm, but other than that, she's fine."  
  
"I wouldn't exactly call it fine, Harris. She's lost her children and her sister. She's probably as far from fine as she can be."  
  
Xander looked sheepish. He opened his mouth to speak, but I didn't want to hear whatever he had to say. I cut him off.  
  
"Right then. Let's go to the hospital."  
  
I drove. Harris wasn't in any condition to be behind the wheel. We'd had enough fatalities for one night.  
  
Giles met us as soon as we walked into the hospital. He looked ill. He must have had to identify the bodies. Better him than me. He looked up at me and our eyes met. There wasn't anything to say to comfort each other. I kept silent, and followed him.  
  
Dawn was small and pale on her bed. There was an IV drip hooked up to her right arm. The left was covered in a white cast. She looked very young, still my little bit. The last Summers.  
  
It had been two days, and I hadn't slept. I'd cried and howled. Broken more furniture. I'd gotten myself thrown out of the hospital twice. I didn't listen and came back when the nurses weren't looking. I went out patrolling both nights and killed any vampire I could find. I even got drunk with Harris. He was a git, but we were both drowning in the same horror. Might as well do it together.  
  
I used to think of Buffy as invincible. She'd made it though so much. We helped each other, the two of us. I watched her back, and she watched mine. She'd saved the whole world, dammit. She shouldn't have been beaten by a hunk of metal.  
  
Dawn wanted me at the funerals. "You're one of the only ones left," she said, "and you have to be there for Buffy."  
  
So we buried them all at dusk. Two small coffins and one large got lowered into the ground as we watched. I could have thrown myself after her. Would have, if it weren't for Dawn. I'd stick around a bit longer, for her. Till the end of the world, even if it wasn't tonight. 


	8. Dawn

I was acting like a brat, and I knew it. I'd never been this way before. When I was a teenager, I never fought with my mother over silly things like curfews and clothes. But now, here I was, almost out of my teens and acting like a five year old. I saw myself through Buffy's eyes, and I cringed. But I didn't stop.  
  
She'd come into my world two days ago, and already she'd changed everything. If I were forced to be perfectly honest with myself, I'd admit that part of the attitude I'd copped had to do with William. He was way too old for me, I knew it, but he was just so – well, so hot. And he'd been actually listening to me, not talking through me like Buffy'd been doing since she woke up. I wasn't used to be talked to like I didn't understand things, and I didn't like it.  
  
But then Buffy showed up, and, gee, look, William is an exact ringer for her boyfriend, Spike. Great, that's just what I needed. More wonkiness to make my like complicated. Last week, I was sitting in class, and my biggest worry was what I was going to write my research paper on. Now I'm possibly wanted by the police, my sister is having panic attacks, and there are two strange British men in the next room. All because my sister woke up. Careful what you wish for, Dawnie.  
  
Whatever. I wished I'd had some gum to snap. I kicked my feet on the bed and watched the flickering lights.  
  
Then everything happened at once. There was a crashing sound from the bathroom. I got up slowly and made my way to the bathroom. William burst in the door and ran to Buffy. He beat me there. I looked on. She was on the floor, thrashing about. It scared me to look at her, so I went back to the bed. Maybe if I pretended like none of this was happening, it would go away.  
  
No such luck. Buffy was better now. She stood in front of me, so instead of the television, I saw her hips, hands glued to them.  
  
"Hey!" I said, doing my best impression of a second grader. "I was watching that!"  
  
I wasn't actually. I didn't even know what was on.  
  
"It happened again," she said. Yeah, Buff, I got that from the convulsions. Someone had to stop me. I needed to be smacked. I shut off the inner dialogue. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened before I woke up in that hospital."  
  
I sat up and looked from Buffy to William and back again. William looked more scared than Buffy did. She just looked determined, and a little disheveled. She was still a force to be reckoned with. Plus, she was still my sister, and I still loved her, brattiness aside.  
  
"Do you think this is my fault?" I asked, worried.  
  
"I don't know, Dawn." Buffy said. "I would say probably not, but I don't have any idea what's happening, or what has happened before. That's why I need to know exactly what was going on before I woke up."  
  
I thought back to Monday. It had been a normal day. "Buffy, I don't know." I said, and thought harder. When you sister suddenly rouses from catatonia, everything that happened before seems a little bit less important.  
  
"It happened quickly," I said, trying to remember details. "I talked to your nurse, and she said you were sitting on your bed. So I went in to see you. You never showed an indication that you knew people were in the room with you, and it wasn't any different."  
  
Buffy nodded. "So you went into my room. What then?"  
  
"Sat down. Talked to you. Just the usual. I gave you your present. I bring those a lot, I'm not sure why –"  
  
Buffy cut me off. "What did you give me?"  
  
"I guess you'd maybe call it an orb? Round, shiny, pink. It was pretty." I wondered why it even mattered, but figured it must, because she kept pursuing the topic.  
  
"How big was it? Was it opaque? Transparent? Where did you get it?"  
  
"I didn't measure it, Buffy." I sighed. "It was about the size of a baseball. Translucent, but not completely see through. I got it on the street. A craft sale kinda thing."  
  
"You don't just buy orbs off the street, Dawn!"  
  
"Sorry, but I don't really have a reputable orb dealer." What the hell was she on anyway?  
  
"Sorry." She apologized, then went straight back into the rapid-fire questions. "Okay, so, you gave me the orb. Did you put it in my hands?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Then what?"  
  
"Well, then you looked at me. Like, really looked at me, and not just an open-eyed catatonic stare. It was kinda freaky."  
  
"That's all? You didn't say anything to me?" She was blaming me. And it was so not my fault.  
  
"No, I didn't say anything. Just orb, hand, flash of light, welcome back, Buffy."  
  
She stopped to consider that a moment. Then she tuned to Giles. I hadn't even seen him come in.  
  
"Giles," she said, "I saw a flash of light when I was driving. And Dawn says there was a flash of light here when I woke up."  
  
"Buffy," Giles began, "I'm certain that whatever happened to you must be in some way supernatural, but I think you're overestimating my expertise on the subject. I think you're on the right track, but I dare say I'm as lost as you are at the moment."  
  
Buffy looked confused. I could tell she was expecting Giles to have answers for her. "Oh." was all she said. Then she turned back to me.  
  
"Dawn," she asked, "Where is the orb now?"  
  
"I don't know." I said truthfully. "I think it must still be in your room at the hospital, because I don't remember picking it up."  
  
"We need to get it back."  
  
Giles, William and I all spoke at the same time.  
  
"Buffy, I'm not sure that that's a wise idea…"  
  
"We can't go back there! They'll lock you up again!"  
  
"Right, we'll break into a possible crime scene." Giles must have filled him in a little, because he seemed to know what was going on now.  
  
"One at a time, please? Giles – I need to get that orb, and it's in the hospital, therefore, we go to the hospital. S-William, I'm not suggesting breaking in, and you don't have to come if you don't want to. Dawn, don't worry. They won't lock me up again, I promise."  
  
"So, do you have a plan, then?" I asked anxiously.  
  
"I'll make one up."  
  
Great. Somehow, I knew this was going to turn out badly, and we hadn't even set off yet. I was pretty sure I'd be driving the getaway vehicle, though. One thing I could say for Buffy – she sure made my life a lot more interesting.  
  
* * *  
  
We waited until after visiting hours to go the clinic. It would have been possible for Giles or William to just walk in, but we thought they'd probably be watching Buffy's room pretty closely. We were going to have to be sneaky about it.  
  
I was about three parts nervous, one part excited. I'd never even gotten a speeding ticket before. Before we'd left, I'd been annoying Buffy with all of my questions.  
  
"Are we going to wear ski masks?"  
  
"No. But we should dress inconspicuously. If anyone sees us going in, I don't want to be easily identified." She must have done things like this a lot.  
  
"Oh." I tried not to sound disappointed. "Well, can we carry walkie talkies?"  
  
"No! Dawn, this isn't Mission: Impossible!"  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Who's going in? All of us? Cause I'm not sure it would be a good idea for Giles to crawl in a window. Old bones and stuff." I was kind of bouncing on the bed. I think it bothered her.  
  
"I'm going in. Just me. The rest of you are going to wait in the car. And you're going to leave if I'm not out in twenty minutes."  
  
I wasn't going to let her get away with that. "You at least have to let me come with you. Think about it, Buffy. I know that place, and you don't. Also, I know what the orb looks like. I mean, maybe you'd go in there and take someone else's orb, and no your own."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "You do have a point about me not knowing my way around, though."  
  
"I know." I was going to get to go, I knew it!"  
  
Buffy sighed. "I don't want to get you arrested, Dawn."  
  
"I don't want to get arrested, either. We just won't get caught."  
  
"Okay. But if you're going in, William has to drive, in case we need to get away fast."  
  
"Deal!" I said. And thus began my life in crime.  
  
When we got to the hospital, Buffy and I got out, and Giles and William went to drive around. We didn't want to park the car, because for one, the parking lot was too far away, and two, it wouldn't be a great idea to be seen parked there. It was pretty much empty, save for a few cars of the nurses who worked the overnight shift.  
  
For the first time in a few days, I was the one doing the leading. Buffy followed me as we walked quietly through the damp grass. "Here," I said, pointing. "That's your room."  
  
Luckily, it was on the first floor. The window couldn't have been more than three feet off the ground. I wasn't up to scaling any buildings. Breaking into buildings, yes, I was all for it. But I wasn't Spiderman, and I was afraid of heights, too.  
  
The window was closed, of course. It wasn't even supposed to be open in the first place; someone must have made a mistake the day Buffy pulled me through it. It must have been an old window. It struck me as odd that any window in a mental institution would open easily into the outside world. There wasn't even a screen on it.  
  
I had no idea how Buffy planned to open the window from outside the clinic. I was about to ask her how she was going to do it, but as soon as I opened my mouth to speak, she'd placed her hands on the window, pushed inward and up, and it was open.  
  
"Whoa." I said.  
  
"Slayer strength." She smiled. "Comes in handy for changing tires, too."  
  
Buffy hoisted me up, and I squeezed though the window. The room was dark, and appeared to be empty. I looked around, trying to get my eyes to adjust. Buffy climbed in after me, and stood behind me.  
  
"Where do you think it is?" she whispered.  
  
"It it's still here, it should be under that bureau. I think it rolled there when you dropped it." Being in the room was helpful in clearing up the foggy memories I had of those insane minutes.  
  
I got down on my stomach, and peered under the chest. There it was, just an arm's length away. I reached out my fingers to roll it towards me. The moment my fingers made contact, I felt electricity buzzing through my veins. Startled, I pulled away. At least I'd managed to move the orb closer.  
  
"Buffy?" I said in a low voice, "I don't think we should touch that thing."  
  
She got down on her hands and knees next to me, and stared at the orb, which was giving off a soft pink light. It was now halfway out from under the dresser. "What happened?"  
  
"I think it bit me." My fingers were throbbing where they'd touched it.  
  
"That can't be good." Buffy wrapped her fingers in her shirt and picked the orb up. "We need to get out of here, and get this to Giles."  
  
I heartily agreed. 


	9. Giles

When I first dreamed of her, I thought nothing of it. Dreams, as a general rule, do not have to make sense, and therefore, it seemed perfectly logical that I should be living in California, and working in a high school library. It was more detailed than most dreams, but I suspected nothing out of the ordinary. My life was the antithesis of extraordinary, and I had no reason to believe that dreams of a blonde girl across the pond would have any effect on my day-to-day existence.  
  
It was strange, I knew, that the dreams kept coming, kept playing like a movie behind my eyelids. I watched this girl grow to womanhood. I saw her pain and her joy, and I saw her death. For months after, there were no dreams, and then, suddenly, they started again. I saw my wife live and die in yet another world. I saw Buffy fall in love with my son. At times, I enjoyed the fantasy more than I enjoyed my own world.  
  
Still, I didn't imagine that Buffy was more than a figment of my imagination.  
  
What are dreams? Manifestations of latent desires? Stories made up by the subconscious to amuse itself? Signals of things to come? I never thought about it. I never considered that my dreams were keyholes into separate lives.  
  
Since my wife died, William and I had led a quiet and uneventful life. I did my best for him; I loved my son a great deal. I knew he thought me stuffy and old-fashioned, that my ways were best suited for life in an earlier era. They were my ways, though, and I wasn't about to give them up. At times, I would look at William, and wonder how such a man had been created by myself. We got along well enough, but we were never friends. I sometimes felt guilty that I acted more paternal in my dreams, and to someone other than him.  
  
I wasn't fully asleep when she called. It was mere hours after the last dream, the dream of rain and blood, and her death. I'd woken up from that dream drenched in sweat, and for a few fevered seconds, I'd thought it was rain.  
  
William was to visit that afternoon; he wanted to check up on me. Not that he'd said so expressly. There was always some pretense, but I knew he worried I was getting senile. When he'd arrived, he took one look at my face, told me I looked peaked, and ushered me into my room.  
  
"Lie down," he said, "I'll make you some tea."  
  
It angered me that he'd begun to treat me like I was incapable of looking after myself. At thirty-five, my son fancied himself more knowledgeable about my well-being than I, a feeble seventy, was.  
  
I'd never spoken to William about my dreams. I wasn't about to start now, when he already imagined me two centimeters away from dementia.  
  
"I'm fine," I told him. "Just had a bit of a rough night's sleep."  
  
"Which is why you should nap." He put his hand on my shoulder and pushed gently, indicating I should sit down on the bed.  
  
"William, I am not so old that I need to be told when to go to sleep like a ruddy kindergartener."  
  
He would have protested more, but the phone rang. He walked out of the room, and I realized that, despite my protests, a nap sounded like a lovely idea. I hadn't fully recovered from my last foray into Buffy's world. I was a bit frightened that as soon as I drifted off I'd be plunged into a nightmare of death and despair, but the weariness won over, and I slept while William talked to Buffy.  
  
I didn't sleep long, but I woke feeling more rested than I had in a long time. I walked into the family room to find William reading the newspaper and looking cross. He didn't look up, but nodded to acknowledge my presence.  
  
"You shouldn't frown like that," I said to him, "It makes you look slightly vampiric."  
  
"You'd be upset if you'd had the day I have." He didn't stop frowning.  
  
"What kind of day could you have had? You've been here messing in my day for hours." He was taking a well deserved vacation from the paper, so I know he hadn't been to work before he'd come to see me.  
  
"Yes, and while you slept, I took a call from some insane little tart. Gave her name as 'Buffy'. She was a rude little thing." He put the paper down and grimaced.  
  
I just stared at him. Buffy had called? Was I still dreaming? I pinched myself. It hurt. I was awake.  
  
"William," I said, "What did this woman have to say?"  
  
"Not much. She wanted to talk to you. Swore at me when I told her you were sleeping. You don't actually know this bint, do you?"  
  
"I may," I said, not sure how much to reveal to him. He already thought I was going round the bend. Telling him my dreams were calling on the telephone wouldn't do any good.  
  
The look on his face was quite priceless. It would have made a wonderful picture. "How, exactly, do you know her?"  
  
"Never mind that. You say you hung up on her? Why didn't you just come get me? You knew I wasn't sleeping yet. We were talking when the phone rang. I may be getting up in years, William, but I'm still your father, and this is my flat, and I deserve to receive my own calls." The more I thought about it, the more upset I was. I needed to talk to this woman.  
  
William didn't say anything more, but intensified his glare. I had the urge to take him over my knee, and might have acted on it if he weren't so much more muscular than I was.  
  
"I'm calling her back," I said.  
  
"Are you having an affair? At your age?" I thought his eyes would fall out of his head, they were open so wide.  
  
"If I am," I said, "It's none of your sodding business. Go away, I have a call to make."  
  
After I'd gotten through to her, and talked to her, I knew that I had to see her. She was in trouble, and I had to help her, even if I wasn't the same man I was in the dreamworld. She'd lost her entire world, and if I could provide a thread of connection, I was bloody well going to do it, and my son was not going to get in my way.  
  
We had a terrible row, and he insisted on coming with me. He was probably afraid Buffy was a gold digging murderous tramp, and that they'd find my body in a dumpster in several weeks if he wasn't there to protect me. Fine, he could come along; I wasn't going to stop him.  
  
When I saw her, I felt a love so strong rise in my heart that I knew she'd never been just a dream. I knew that I was meant to help her, and that's what I intended to do.  
  
* * *  
  
After we got to the hotel, I had to tell William everything that was going on. He'd convinced himself that Buffy was my lover, and that Dawn was either our secret love child, or an alien clone. He was none too satisfied with the real answer, but he seemed relieved that I hadn't been shagging a much younger woman behind his back.  
  
"Dad," he said, "You know you're talking nonsense, don't you?"  
  
"Okay, William, you win." Arguing with him took so much energy, and I was already jetlagged and irritable. "I've made this all up, and that woman is just an actress I've paid to play the part of Buffy. My life was getting boring, and I thought it would spice it up a bit to drag you across two continents and playact a bit."  
  
"That's very funny. I hope you amused yourself." He stormed out of the room like he'd done so many times as a teenager. It was reassuring, in a way, to be back in the role of the father.  
  
Pleased with myself for upsetting my son, I set about unpacking my suitcases. I hadn't brought that much, but I liked to make sure I knew where everything was. I hated digging through suitcases in the morning, in desperate need of toothpaste. I was putting undershirts in a drawer when I heard a loud crash, and then something that sounded very much like a scream.  
  
I hurried to the room the girls were staying in, though, admittedly, at my age, it wasn't very fast. By the time I got there, Dawn and Buffy were engaged in some sort of an argument involving an orb. Buffy sounded very maternal.  
  
The gist of the conversation, I gleaned, was a dissection of the events leading to Buffy's awakening. From what she'd told me, I knew that Buffy and Dawn had left the mental institution she'd been in in rather a hurry; in fact, she was presumed to have been taken against her will.  
  
Dawn was telling Buffy about an orb, and a flash of light.  
  
"Giles," Buffy turned to me and said, "I saw a flash of light when I was driving. And Dawn says there was a flash of light here when I woke up."  
  
She spoke as though she expected me to make something of that. I knew that if I were her Giles, her Watcher, I would have been able to. I would have had some brilliant idea and gone to look for some musty book. As it were, the only book I had with me was an ancient copy of Great Expectations, and I didn't think I'd find any answers in there.  
  
"Buffy," I said, hesitantly. I wasn't sure how to tell her, and not upset her too greatly. "I'm certain that whatever happened to you must be in some way supernatural, but I think you're overestimating my expertise on the subject. I think you're on the right track, but I dare say I'm as lost as you are at the moment."  
  
That wasn't the answer she wanted. She seemed confused, and upset with me. She simply said, "Oh," and then ignored me in favor of Dawn.  
  
It seemed Buffy was convinced that we all needed to go back to the hospital and get that orb. It was ridiculous, dangerous, and illegal, but I'd gotten to know Buffy well enough over the course of all my years dreaming of her that I knew that she wouldn't listen to me if I told her she shouldn't go. I made a cursory protest anyway, but was quickly overruled.  
  
Once she made the decision, she was the dictator. She gave each of us jobs and outlined what we were to do. I think William was a bit in awe of her. He took direction without complaining. Dawn was excited about the prospect of doing something so far out of her normal range of activities. I just wanted to make sure Buffy was safe. Her blackouts were very troubling.  
  
William was to drive. Dawn and Buffy were going in alone. I wasn't sure why I was needed in this excursion, but I was glad that I hadn't been excluded. Though, on second thought, it would have been nice to have a safety, in case the rest of them needed to be bailed out of jail.  
  
When we got to the hospital, Buffy and Dawn scrambled out of the car. Buffy then leaned in the window and kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks," she said. "You're more like him than you think." Then they were off, legs pumping and hair bouncing.  
  
We waited. William turned some god awful thing on that I supposed he thought passed for music. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. I shot him a scathing look, which he ignored.  
  
I did want to talk to him. I wasn't quite sure how to begin though, or even what I should say. He must believe me about Buffy now that he'd seen and heard more. "William," I said finally, "I guess I probably should have mentioned something about this before…"  
  
"Who's Spike?" he asked, completely ignoring what I'd just said.  
  
"Well," I began, "From what I've seen in dreams, he's a vampire. And he's Buffy's lover."  
  
"He's apparently my twin, too."  
  
"I suppose you could say that," I said, wary of the tone in his voice. "Your hair is different, and you don't carry yourself the way he does, but there is a striking similarity, yes."  
  
"And you know this all because you've seen it while you were asleep." He was getting snottier by the minute.  
  
I sighed. "William, I already told you that. If you're going to ask questions about this, the least you can do is be open to the answers you're going to get."  
  
He skulked, and said nothing more. I sighed again. I took off my glasses and rubbed them clean on my shirt. I probably smeared them a lot more than they were before, but it was a nervous habit, and I hardly realized I was doing it anymore.  
  
I heard a noise then. I looked up, and saw Buffy and Dawn running back to the car. Buffy didn't look very good. She was sweating, and she'd gone very pale. Dawn looked frightened.  
  
Buffy opened the back door, and they both got in.  
  
"Go, now," she said.  
  
William started the car, and tore out of the parking lot at a speed that had me clutching the sides of my seat.  
  
"Giles, there's something really weird about that orb. And I mean weirder than we thought before." That was Dawn. She was buckling herself in and leaning over the seat to talk to me at the same time.  
  
"Buffy?" I asked.  
  
"I'm fine," she said. "Got the orb. I think I should not be holding it anymore, though. I'm not even touching it, but I feel like it's burning me."  
  
I turned around. She was holding the orb in her shirt. It was glowing.  
  
"I should say you shouldn't be holding it anymore! Put it down."  
  
She laughed, and I realized I sounded quite ridiculous. But at least she did get the orb away from herself. She set it on the seat beside her, and foolishly, I reached back to touch it myself.  
  
It was warm to the touch; I could feel that before my fingers even made contact. When they did touch, there was a sharp shock. Instead of letting go, as I probably should have, I held it a while longer.  
  
Then I was seeing double. I knew I was still in the car, beside William, but I could also see myself sitting at a table, in a dark room, a glass of brandy in my hand. There was a flash of light, and I dropped the glass. At the same time, I must have dropped the orb.  
  
"Giles?!" Buffy sounded panicked.  
  
"I think," I said, "That this orb is most certainly the reason you're here. And no one should touch it."  
  
"Well, duh," said Dawn. "We figured that out in the hospital."  
  
"Oh," I said. "I don't suppose the next time you make that kind of discovery, you could tell me before I touch the bloody thing?" 


	10. Interlude: Sunnydale, Xander

So she's gone now. They're gone now. Shouldn't this be easier? Because this, time, I know where she is. She's in heaven, again, right? So I should let go. I can't seem to do that, though. I can't seem to really do anything much at all.  
  
I could tell you exactly when this started. It was when Anya died. It was a long time ago, but it doesn't feel that long. It seems like it was only a week ago that we were happy and she was smiling in that way she did. But when did happiness ever last, for any of us? It's so damn unfair. We save the world, and our lives suck for it.  
  
They all tried to help me, they really did. The usual interventions and worried discussions took place. Without Anya, though, and without Willow, they didn't pack the same punch. I'm a Harris. It was sort of inevitable that I drink myself stupid.  
  
This latest tragedy, well, it was just another reason to find reality at the bottom of a good drink. I was selfish. I hated myself for it. Out of all of them, I had lost the least. She wasn't my lover, or my sister, and they weren't my children. I should have been filling my role as the loyal friend and ready ear, but.  
  
But I didn't. I let Giles comfort Dawn, and Spike. Goddamn Spike. I was the last and only holdout in liking Mr. Lemon fresh Hair. Buffy had said it was residual jealousy, but I thought I just didn't like the guy. Whatever. I didn't matter now.  
  
My apartment was dark. The light bulb in the living room had burned out a few days ago, and I hadn't gotten the energy to climb up a chair and fix it. Besides, I kinda liked the dark.  
  
I spent nearly a week in that dark, with the TV on and flickering, and me only half watching it. There were perks to owning a company. It meant no one to call when you didn't feel like getting out of bed in the morning. I made my own rules. The money still came in.  
  
She found me sitting there, in my leather recliner, beer bottle in hand. I must have dozed off while some infomercial was trying to sell me a rack to dry food. Her voice woke me up.  
  
"Get up." She sounded mad.  
  
"Huh?" I opened my eyes. I couldn't see her. Too dark. My eyes hadn't adjusted yet.  
  
"I said, get your ass off that chair."  
  
I blinked. She came into focus slowly. Dawn. Her hair was in a tight ponytail, and she wore no make up. Her jeans and t-shirt must have been a decade old. Still, she looked young, fresh.  
  
"What are you doing here?" I asked her.  
  
"Saving you."  
  
"I don't need saving." I looked at the green bottle I held. There was still a bit left. I brought it to my mouth and took a drink.  
  
She flew at me, like mad thing. The bottle was out of my hand and smashed against the wall before I knew what she intended to do.  
  
"I am not losing another person I love. You're doing this to yourself. You're so stupid!" She'd started to cry. I felt like scum. I wanted to feel like drunk scum.  
  
"Dawnie," I said, "I've got it under control."  
  
"Do not. Call me Dawnie. I'm not a child, Xander. I'm not blind, either. I've known for a long time you were still drinking." She sat down on the couch, pushing aside an old newspaper.  
  
"And, I just said, I've got it under control."  
  
"Right, and that's why you're sitting here in the dark with a week's worth of trash. Cause you've got it under control. God, even Spike's handling this better than you are."  
  
And there she'd done it. She'd struck the one chord she knew would get a rise out of me. And she'd done it so skillfully that I didn't realize I'd been played until I'd already taken the bait.  
  
"Yeah, Spike's great. Spike's fucking noble because he has no soul, and he's not killing people. I get all the flak around here, don't I? Everything I do wrong, every little thing, it's always, always mentioned. I'm sick of this, Dawn." I got out of the chair and walked over to her.  
  
She looked up at me. "Then do something about it." 


	11. Buffy

It was like one of those slapstick comedies. We had to transport the orb thing out of the car somehow, but we knew we shouldn't touch it. Giles, Dawn and I had already felt its effects first hand, but William hadn't. He was driving, so he couldn't reach back and touch it, but he kept giving me looks in the rearview mirror. I looked away whenever our eyes happened to meet.  
  
He just looked too much like Spike. Looking in his eyes, I could almost delude myself that he was Spike, and that would lead to nothing good. So I did the avoidance thing and shifted my gaze whenever I saw his blueblue eyes on mine.  
  
When we got to the hotel again, we all got out of the car, but left the orb there. I didn't want to touch it again. Dawn was looking at it like it might explode in her face. Giles looked confused.  
  
William was the last to get out of the car. He pushed his way through the rest of us and reached into the car to get the orb. As soon as he touched it, he jerked backwards, bumping into me and knocking me to the ground.  
  
I was stunned. I sat there, on my butt, on the asphalt while William stared at his hand. Dawn started giggling. Giles sighed loudly. In a way, it almost felt like I was back in Sunnydale, with my family.  
  
Because, whether the knew it or not, these people were my family.  
  
Dawn walked over and offered her hand to help me up. We joined Giles and William, who were now looking down at the orb, which had also fallen to the parking lot. William was still looking stung. Dawn chided him, "God, don't be such a baby. I touched the thing a lot longer than you did."  
  
"Well, um, I," he stammered.  
  
"People, could we please wait until we've safely transported this thing inside before we start with the bickering?" I used my best grown-up Buffy voice. It was, I still sometimes forgot that I was, in fact, a grown up, though I'd been one for most of my life.  
  
"Yes, let's do that," said William, obviously glad that he didn't have to defend his manhood to a snitty nineteen-year-old.  
  
"How?" asked Dawn. "I mean, we're not gonna touch it again. So what do we do? Kick the into the hotel and down the hall?"  
  
I considered that for a moment.  
  
"Oh, come on, Buffy! I wasn't serious!" Dawn looked mortified at the possibility of having to use the orb like a soccer ball.  
  
"Are there any other suggestions?" I asked.  
  
We all thought for a while. Giles was the first to speak.  
  
"I think, if we got something under it… cloth, perhaps, or paper… that we could hold it between two of us."  
  
Dawn sighed in relief.  
  
"That does sound better," I said. "So what do we use?"  
  
"Would my jacket work?" asked William, taking said jacket off.  
  
"I think so, I said." I took the jacket from him, and crouched back down near the orb.  
  
I stared at it for a while, almost afraid that just looking at it would zap me back into a grave in another dimension. I wrapped the jacket around my hand, like it was a oven mitt, and tentatively touched the orb. It still felt strange, but there wasn't the shock like quality that the others had experienced with direct contact. I scooped it up, and held it as far away from my body as possible.  
  
"Someone grab the other end!" I called.  
  
William came to my aid. We walked, three or so feet apart, arms stretched out to the center. It was pretty awkward. We had to match paces to each other, and we also had to walk very carefully so that the orb wouldn't fall out of its cradle. Dawn and Giles walked ahead to get doors for us.  
  
Several passersby gave us strange looks. I wondered what I would think if I saw two people walking the way we were. What would I think we were carrying? Something distasteful. Maybe a dirty diaper. I giggled at that, and my arm wavered a little. William stopped walking and gave me a dirty look.  
  
That only served to make me laugh harder. "Sorry!" I said between giggles. I didn't know what was wrong with me. It wasn't even that funny. "I think it's just nerves," I told William. "I mean, I'm not really insane. Despite the being in an institution thing."  
  
He cocked his head, and it was such a Spike thing to do that my heart did a little pinging thing. He smiled. I smiled in answer.  
  
"Come on, guys! I can't hold this door forever!" Dawn was now a good fifty yard in front of us, holding open the door to our room.  
  
"Just a sec!" I called back. Then, to William. "I'm better now. Really. Let's go." Then I giggled again.  
  
Okay, maybe I was insane. But I wasn't going to let him know that.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
"What do we do now?" asked Dawn. The orb was sitting safely on the bed, still wrapped partially in William's jacket. It looked innocuous, not glowing.  
  
"Um," I said, trying to think as I spoke. "I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, I just thought, orb, need to get it. Now that we have it…"  
  
"It's pretty," said Dawn. "We could use it for decoration."  
  
"I'm not sure that would be very helpful." That was Giles.  
  
Dawn sighed dramatically. "I was kidding. God, doesn't anyone have a sense of humor?"  
  
"I thought it was funny," said William, and smiled at Dawn.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Giles was now leaning over the bed, his face dangerously near the orb. He studied it from every angle he could without actually picking it up. Then he straightened up and said to me, "Buffy, I'm sorry for not being your Watcher. But, as I said before, I don't have a bloody clue about things like this. If this were an Indian artifact, I would be your man but…"  
  
I nodded. "I can be pretty self-sufficient when it's called for."  
  
"You don't need to be," said William. "We're all here. We may not know what we're doing, or how we can help you, but you can rely on us to do what needs to be done. The trouble is finding that out. That's where you're mostly on your own."  
  
"Have you seen anything like this before, Buffy?" asked Dawn.  
  
"I've seen orbs. The Orb of Thessula is used to house a human soul. It's pretty powerful. I've only seen one once. This is different. I don't think its purpose is the same. It seems to be some kind of conduit into other dimensions."  
  
"It switches bodies."  
  
We all looked at Giles, who had spoken. He was sitting down now, on the bed that didn't hold the orb.  
  
"Buffy felt like she was in the grave when she touched it. I saw myself in that other world. I felt myself moving, floating away from here, and towards it. I'm sure that if I had held on longer, the transfer would have happened."  
  
"So," said William, "If I held on to that thing long enough, I'd transfer bodies with Spike?"  
  
I stared at him. I'd been so wrapped up in thinking of myself, I hadn't even thought of it. It could happen. I was stuck here; I knew that. It was either here, in this body, or there, in a corpse. But Spike… Spike could come here. And I wouldn't be alone.  
  
No, I thought. That was wrong. It was beyond wrong. I couldn't do it. William wouldn't know the first thing about Sunnydale, or about being a vampire. If he went there, I couldn't predict how he would act.  
  
Still, I was tempted. I didn't know how to answer William. "I don't know," I said. "I mean, maybe you would. But he's a vampire, and you're not, so that may throw off whatever's doing this."  
  
William nodded. "I'm not Spike, either. You, Dawn, my father – you all are the same people in both worlds. Spike, as you know him doesn't exist here. William Giles does not exist there."  
  
He was right. I hadn't really thought of that. But there was a connection. There had to be some reason why Spike's human twin was in this world, and Giles's son. Thinking about it made my head hurt, though, so I tried not to. Instead, I turned to Giles.  
  
"So we know it switches bodies. And it switched me as I was dying. Does that mean I'm stuck here?" I thought I already knew the answer. I knew that he wouldn't know any more than I did.  
  
He'd taken off his glass, and now he put them back on. Giles to the core, I thought. Only without the magic know how. "I… I would suspect so, Buffy."  
  
I didn't know how to deal. I wasn't dead. I was grateful for that. And a guilty portion of me actually felt relieved. This was a bit like heaven, wasn't it? I was done with the Slaying. No more late nights in grave yards and smelly demon stains that just won't come out of leather. I had my loved ones – or reasonable facsimiles – and they, too, were safe.  
  
But. The world I left behind, how would they cope? There was another Slayer. The whole saving the world gig would go to her; she could handle it. The other part, though, I wasn't sure about.  
  
It wasn't like I really had a choice. They all thought I was dead. No one would mess with trying to bring me back; we'd all learned that lesson hard and fast. As hard as I thought, I couldn't come up with a way of getting me back from this end.  
  
"Buffy?" said Dawn, "Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine, Dawnie," I said automatically, not thinking of the words as they came from my mouth.  
  
"You want to go back, don't you?" She sounded so hurt. I remembered the way Dawn had acted that first year I'd been back from the dead. It wasn't unlike this.  
  
I didn't lie to her. "My life's there, Dawn. Yeah, I want to go back."  
  
She nodded, pressing her lips tightly together, then turned her back to me. From the shaking of her back, I could tell she was either crying, or trying very hard not to. I got up and touched her shoulder, but she jerked away.  
  
"Dawn, I…"  
  
She cut me off. "I understand, Buffy, okay? I do. But can I just be alone for a while?"  
  
Instead of waiting for an answer, she ran to the bathroom and shut the door. I slumped down onto the bed, beside Giles. William stood, watching us.  
  
Giles hugged me. "Give her some time," he said, "She's been through a lot in the past few days, and she's still very young."  
  
"I know," I said. "I wish I could help her. Anyway, I'm not going back, so it's kind of moot that I want to, anyway."  
  
"It isn't to Dawn," said Giles.  
  
"You're right," I said, and then fell silent.  
  
"Ahem." William cleared his throat, and we both looked up at him. "I hate to be the bearer of bad… things, but something's happening to the orb." 


	12. Buffy

In unison, we all turned to look at the orb. It was now hovering several feet above the bed, and the glowing had increased significantly. The bed started to shake.  
  
Instinctively, I looked for Dawn. She was still in the bathroom. She was probably safer in there, but I went to get her anyway. I always felt like I could protect her from anything, as long as I could see her.  
  
"Dawn!" I yelled, and pounded on the bathroom door. "Get out here. Emergency time."  
  
She opened the door a crack. She was crying. I saw one blue eye, a strand of blond hair, and half her mouth. I snuck my arm through the opening, found her arm, and pulled. She came stumbling into the room.  
  
"What's so important that you can't let me cry alone?" she asked, then looked over towards the bed. "Oh," she said. "OH."  
  
The bed was shaking now. The orb was bright enough that it lit the entire room, and was it just my imagination, or was it getting bigger?  
  
"My god, it's growing!" Giles exclaimed.  
  
Nope, not just my imagination.  
  
"This is fascinating!" Giles again.  
  
"Um, I vote for creepy," said Dawn, walking closer to the bed.  
  
"Don't get too close to it!" I yelled.  
  
"Yeah, I don't think I'm going to. Not too keen on the whole being sucked into another world thing." Yet she was still inching forward as she spoke. I ran up to her and stopped her by putting my hand firmly on her shoulder.  
  
"What the bloody hell is going on here, Buffy?" asked William.  
  
"Do I look like I know? I didn't know what the orb did before it went all supernova, and I still don't know. But I'm betting it's not going to be something happy. I wish I had weapons. I don't suppose either of you has an axe handy? An axe would be a good thing to have about now." I looked frantically around the room for any kind of weapon.  
  
"What, are you gonna smash the bad orb to smithereens?" William sounded so much like Spike then that I almost didn't want to look at him.  
  
"If that works, I will. But more, I was thinking that something might come out of that portal." I pointed. Where the orb had been, there was now a small, dark portal. It shimmered and pulsed.  
  
"What the fuck is that?" Dawn swore.  
  
"It's a portal," I told them. "It's a door to some other dimension. It may be a portal to "It's a portal," I told them. "It's a door to some other dimension. It may be a portal to my dimension, actually."  
  
"Are you going to jump in there and go away?" Dawn was again crying, but the tears were falling silently.  
  
"No. Not until I know what's in there, anyway." But as I spoke, it became apparent that I wasn't going to get a chance to go in. Something else was coming out.  
  
"Everyone get back!" I said in my "Slayer Knows Best" voice. They didn't listen, but stood there, staring, as a black hand, covered in scales and pointed claws reached out of the now-widening portal.  
  
Dawn screamed. William gasped.  
  
"Get back, I said!" This time they listened.  
  
"What the bloody hell is that thing?" asked Giles. He, William and Dawn had gone behind the other bed. They were crouched down, with their heads looking over the covers. If I had had the time to be amused, I would have been.  
  
"Demon. I don't know what kind. I'd need to look it up in some musty book that doesn't exist here. I'm just gonna call it ugly and leave it at that."  
  
By now the thing had an entire arm, and part of its head sticking out of the portal. I still didn't have a good weapon. Improvising, I ran to the bathroom, and gave the bar where the shower curtain hung a good yank. Plaster fell from the wall, but it didn't dislodge completely. I pulled harder, tearing the thing out of the wall.  
  
"This better work," I mumbled at the mirror, and dashed back out again.  
  
"Oh my god," said Dawn as she saw me come out of the bathroom. "You totally just ruined our room. They're gonna charge us for that!"  
  
"They'll charge us more if Ugly there gets out and goes on a rampage." I nodded towards the demon, which was now halfway between worlds. Thank god the thing was a slow mover. Maybe portal jumping made him dizzy.  
  
I thrust the pole towards its emerging midsection. Ugly was harder than he looked, and didn't affect the thing.  
  
"Do you need any help?" called William.  
  
A clawed hand made a swipe at my head, and I ducked, running to the other side of the room.  
  
"I need an axe!" I answered. "I don't need any of you to get killed. So stay there!"  
  
"I'm not moving!" yelled Dawn, helpfully.  
  
Ugly was out of the portal now. He was about eight feet tall, purplish- black, and dripping with some kind of ooze.  
  
"That's gonna stain the carpet," I said.  
  
The demon looked at me, or turned my way. I couldn't tell if it was looking at me or not, because it didn't have any eyes. Instead, it had a black, gaping hole where its eyes should have been. As I stared at it, I felt myself start to lose control of my body. The shower rod slipped from my hand, and bounced on the carpet.  
  
"Buffy!" screamed Dawn, "What's happening?"  
  
I opened my mouth to answer her. Tried to open my mouth. It wouldn't move. I was paralyzed, and Ugly was coming at me, claws raised. I guess he'd taken offense at my poking him in the tummy.  
  
"Someone has to help her!" Dawn's voice was moving rapidly from scream to shriek. "Do something!"  
  
William moved, then. He hopped onto the bed, pulled the nearest lamp from the wall, and hurled it at the demon. The lamp glanced off its head, and didn't harm it in the least, but it was enough of a distraction to get the eye thing unfocused. As soon as it was off me, I could move again.  
  
"Don't look at it!" I told William. "It's hypnotic."  
  
Too late. He was frozen in his place on the bed; eyes glazed and fixed on the demon. It swung at him before I could stop it, and bright red gashes appeared on his shoulder, through torn bits of shirt.  
  
"Oh, shit." I muttered.  
  
I picked up the shower rod again.  
  
"Hey! Over here! Demon guy! I'm the one you want to put to sleep, not him. Come fight me."  
  
It turned, and I closed my eyes. Blindly, I thrust the shower rod, hoping I'd make contact. I felt something squish, and then I was thrown back against the wall. I hit hard, and slid down. I opened my eyes, looking to see what I'd hit.  
  
Ugly was stumbling, the metal bar poking out of its hole-for-eye. The shower rod was all melty, and the demon was starting to get melty, too. It shook and gasped, then collapsed on the bed that didn't hold William.  
  
A quick look told me that Giles was helping William to the bathroom. He had that under control, so I went over to the fallen body of Ugly.  
  
"Are you gonna touch that?" asked Dawn, disgust readily apparent in her voice.  
  
"I was planning on it. I have to make sure it's dead."  
  
"Gross. I'm glad I'm not a vampire slayer. Does this happen a lot when you're around?"  
  
"Pretty much. I think by now I've put the drycleaner's kid through college." I looked down at my shirt, which was covered in rapidly drying purple ooze. "I hate to see what the bed looks like."  
  
Dawn was walking closer to the bed and the demon corpse. "Smells bad, too."  
  
"Yeah, maybe we should open a few windows, air the place out –" I was cut off by a loud noise.  
  
I looked over, and saw the bed shaking. Dawn jumped back. "Is it still alive? It looked way dead."  
  
"I don't think it's alive."  
  
The shaking continued, and sped up. The bed flew up into the air, and started spinning around. Giles came out of the bathroom. "What the…" he said, trailing off.  
  
There was a flash of light, and then it was all gone. No demon, no bed, no orb.  
  
"I guess we don't have to worry about cleaning off the bed anymore," said Dawn.  
  
* * * 


	13. Epilogue: Sunnydale, Dawn

Eventually, life went on. It always did. I don't know why I stayed in Sunnydale, after all that had happened to me there, but I did. We all stayed, even Giles. The Slayer came to help us if things got too bad, but mostly, we did it ourselves.  
  
I had nightmares all the time at first. I'd see my babies in their beds, sleeping like angels, and then they'd roll over, and gleaming skulls would smile at me. I took to sleeping in Xander's apartment. I couldn't bear to be in my house alone.  
  
Spike stayed on Revello Street.  
  
I asked him once, why he stayed, and he told me, "Sometimes I don't know myself, Nibblet." I smiled at the old nickname. "She's not coming back this time, and staying here won't change that. Leaving won't change it, either. I'm staying. Can't walk around forever being scared of waking the dead."  
  
I didn't point out the irony that he, himself, was dead.  
  
Don't wake the dead. If only they would stop waking me.  
  
Then one night, I dreamed of Buffy. Buffy, dressed in a white maternity dress, standing in the light with a man identical to Spike. They were at a park, and I was there, too, walking beside them.  
  
"I'm sorry, Dawn," she told me. "I'm sorry that I couldn't come back to you, and for leaving in the first place. Sometimes I think it's all a dream anyway."  
  
"Do the dead dream?" I asked.  
  
"They dream of being alive."  
  
"But you're not dead." When I said it, I was certain it was true.  
  
"Ssh," she said. "I love you all. Don't forget that. But I'm happy here. Let me dream."  
  
She kissed me on the forehead, and I woke up, safe in my bed, Xander's soft snoring the only sound in the world.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Author's Notes  
  
And that, ambiguous as it may be, is the end. At least it is until I go back and edit it, fixing mistakes in tense, grammar, and spelling. (Thanks to people who pointed them out. I do care, I'm just a lazy, lazy ho.)  
  
This is pretty much the longest thing I've finished ever. Thanks to everyone who read it, and saff, Bethany, Mary Beth, Tink and Erin especially for helping me through stuff. Only one chapter of this was really beta-ed, so I own all my mistakes.  
  
Still, I'm pretty proud to have finished it. Not the best fic out there, for sure, but it's not the worst, and that's good enough for me. 


End file.
